


After the Murder

by FalliciousPuns



Series: Night Watch [1]
Category: Nochnoy Dozor | Night Watch (Movies), Nochnoy Dozor | Night Watch - Sergei Lukyanenko
Genre: Because it's like in the books, M/M, POV First Person, Temptation, it's not a crack fic if you can actually imagine the characters doing it, otherwise it's not as funny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-07-17 17:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16100486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalliciousPuns/pseuds/FalliciousPuns
Summary: The Great Ones are playing games again, it seems.  Semyon has accused Zavulon of murdering a Light one, and Zavulon (of course) has no alibi.  Once more, I find myself in a most peculiar situation.





	1. Prologue

It was winter again in Moscow.  Nothing new, not the bone chill or the people huddling together as they walked down the street, not even the steaming sewage in alleyways that smelled disgusting all year. 

But something new _was_ happening.  If anyone had bothered to check in one of those alleyways, they would have found a woman lying in the dirty snow.  Ice would preserve her body for the next few hours, until the Watches arrived, until the Police arrived. 

If anyone had ventured up onto the roof of the building that soared above, they would have seen the footprints leading purposefully, deliberately and of their owner’s complete free will to the precipice.

This was how Semyon of the Night Watch found Anya Safronova, a fifth level light one, just a little while later.  Enraged, he summoned his compatriots, and later that evening, a complaint was filed to the Moscow Day Watch.  The Great One Zavulon had been accused of murder.

When the news was brought before the grand schemer, the ancient Dark One just began to laugh. 

 

\---

 

“Well you see, Edgar,” Zavulon said silkily once he had stopped grinning ear-to-ear, “In Moscow, we’ve had a similar plot before, to frame the Light One Anton Gorodetsky for several murders.  It is rather stale for Gesser to be pulling another one just for me.”

Edgar nodded, as if he understood.  They were in a taxi, Zavulon having just come from meeting with several human businessmen. “I think we shall have to use a few minor interventions to get to the trial on time,” Edgar muttered nervously. Zavulon nodded pensively, then ordered the cab driver to take an obscure route. 

“The Kremlin?” the driver asked, and Zavulon replied with a silent nod.  Edgar saw the faraway look in his eye that indicating he was reading distant probability lines.  No one disturbed his quiet scheming. 

They arrived with five minutes to spare.  Edgar saw a mask of casual enjoyment spread across Zavulon’s face as the great magician stepped out of the car.  “Take my friend here to the metro,” he said, cutting off Edgar’s protests. Once the cab had whisked the dark one away, Zavulon set out with patient steps across the old cobbles.

 

\---

 

“Dark One Zavulon.  You are charged with the murder of the Light One Anya Safronova, who fell to her death…”

Zavulon did not appear to be paying attention.  He seemed to lounge even in his upright position, his head tilted slightly as if about to ask an obnoxious question.  When the charges had been read, Zavulon sighed and asked, “And what evidence is there to show that I am the murderer?”

“Of all the people in the Watches in this area, you are the only one without an alibi.”

“I do have an alibi,” Zavulon said, voice deadpan.  “I was at home, pleasuring myself.”

There was a small choking noise from somewhere in the courtroom.  Doubtless through hundreds of years of experience, Zavulon managed to keep a straight face.

“There are no witnesses to the fact.”  The inquisitor also had similar experience repressing emotions, for the words were pronounced in the same fatalistic tone as before. 

Anton was sitting in the very first row, next to Geser, and close enough to Zavulon’s podium to see the dark one mouth: _Ah yes, if only_ someone _had been watching_.  Anton had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing.  _The embodiment of selfishness the man may be_ , Anton thought, _but uninteresting he is not_.

“For all intents and purposes,” Zavulon said, turning to face the stands with an almost annoyed expression, “This ploy has been done before.  I am being framed for a murder I did not commit. Consequently, I must either give up my memories, or place myself under the surveillance of the Night Watch.”  Anton looked up to Geser.  The ancient magician had not so much as blinked.  “I accept the latter,” Zavulon continued, “And choose to be accompanied by Anton Gorodetsky of the Moscow Night Watch.”

Anton froze.  There was a tremendous shuffling of feet as people all around turned to stare directly at him.  _He has something special planned for you_ , came the thought, unbidden.  Before he could open his mouth to protest, Anton’s gaze fell upon Geser, who gave the tiniest shake of the head.  The old masters were playing games again, it seemed.

“I accept.” Anton said.  He was resigned.  For him, hell was about to begin.


	2. The Party Begins

My job was to begin immediately, which meant that I was not going to make it to dinner with Nadiyushka and Sveta.  I felt a pang in my heart.  Sveta was cooking something special tonight; she had told me it was a surprise.  I suddenly had a craving for dumplings.

After the court had quieted down and agreed to Zavulon’s proposed measure, the staff of the Watches drained out of the Kremlin like water through a civ.  Geser was the last to go, giving me a meaningful look.  Now, if only I could decipher just what he _meant_ by that look…

“Let us go.”  Zavulon appeared suddenly in the field of my vision, beckoning me with a tilt of his head.  As a magician beyond classification, I now had no need to declare that he had no power over me.  Nonetheless, the words echoed in my thoughts as I tried to reassure myself.

“One moment, Great One Zavulon,” I said.  I was trying my best to be polite, stick to protocol.  “I need to place a call.”

“To lovely Sveta and dearest Nadiyushka of course,” he said, as if he’d been foolish and forgotten them.  Everything from his understanding tone to his words was designed to push me into fury.  _Yes_ , I wanted to say, _I am calling my family to tell them that I have to spend at least a few days with a man who has tried to kill both my wife and daughter._

Somehow, I managed to maintain a semblance of calm.  Too bad for me that Zavulon could see through it as clearly as if it were not there.  “Yes,” I said finally.

Zavulon and I walked to an old telephone booth.  I went inside and tried to shut the door in his face.  His hand snaked out and held it open as he muttered, “I must remain under observation at all times.  You need to be able to hear if I whisper a spell, no?”

I wasn’t looking at him, but I could tell how the corners of his mouth twitched up in that bored, half-interested smile.

He closed the door behind him, and then it was just the two of us in less than a meter’s square of space.  He leaned against the side of the booth, right next to the telephone as I dialed in our home number.

“Antoshka.”

I smiled. She always knew when it was me, even when I was calling from a public phone line.  Then I caught sight of Zavulon’s sly grin as he watched my face. I sobered immediately.

“Sveta, I’m here with Zavulon,” I hurried on.  I didn’t want the dark one listening in to anything private.  There was the tiniest inhalation of breath from Sveta. “You remember when I was accused of murder I had to stay with Olga?” I asked.

“And Geser is making you do the same for Zavulon…” she guessed. 

“I’m beyond classification.  There was no one else-” I was distracted again by Zavulon, who had looked down at his shoes and bitten his lip as if he were trying to stifle a giggle.

“Antoshka you’re not telling me everything.”

I tried to focus on the number pad in front of my face, but my eyes drifted back to Zavulon.  He mouthed: _Tell her._ My fingers itched.  I wanted to kill him.

“There isn’t much to tell,” I evaded.  “I just wanted to tell you that I won’t be back for a few days.”

“Anton.” Her voice was sharp, like a schoolteacher’s.  She wanted me to remember what she was about to say next. 

“Anton, you are _beyond classification_.”

Confusing. I knew that.  So then, why was she telling me… 

“Goodbye Antoshka.”  _Click._

I put the phone down, confused. 

Zavulon chuckled.  “Antoshka, you’re not _telling_ me everything,” he crooned, perfectly mimicking Sveta’s worried intonation.  “Very slippery, Anton.  You should have told her that _I_ was the one that requested you, not Geser.” 

I confined my fury to silence. 

Once we had slipped our way through the mug of tourists around Red Square, Zavulon ushered me into a taxi that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. Obstinately, I took a seat in the back. To my dismay, he did not sit in the front, but joined me, as if he were a real human being. 

I was tempted to zone out as Zavulon directed the cab driver straight through town. I had to remind myself to be alert at all times, particularly around this dark one.  It was Zavulon’s appearance that was so disarming.  He was not portly like Geser, so he lacked the presence that made my boss so commanding.  Zavulon seemed to be just a regular university professor, highschool teacher or librarian.  Nice clothes: crisp shirt, sweater and business jacket, the first two- no, three buttons of his shirt undone and slim grey trousers of undeterminable material. And formal leather shoes.  He looked to be the type who listened, reserving all judgement and only ever inputting a few words here and there.

But that was if you weren’t looking at his face, as I had been doing.  His eyes drew me.  It was as if they were two frozen ponds; beautiful and calm enough to skate on, but they promised a terrible, heartless death.  Yes, one was always skating on thin ice around Zavulon, I reflected.  I wished I had my disc player with me.  I wished I had armed myself with the cheeriest, brightest songs to combat this fearsome cold.

Zavulon waved a loose hand in front of my face.  “You will pay attention.”

Shit. I’d zoned out looking into his eyes.

I recognized the gesture though and tried my best not to scowl.  “Who knew an old Russian Other like you would have time to watch Star Wars,” I mused, more to fill the silence than anything.

“The Light Ones think that those movies are about them, but the Dark Ones know that they’re really about us,” Zavulon said, turning his head to glance out the window.  The sky was grey, but still bright, and it washed all the colour from the scene so that the edges of Zavulon’s face were painted in whites while the rest was plunged into darkness.

“They were saving the universe from the tyranny of one man,” I said.

“And yet Luke pursued his goals for entirely selfish reasons.  He blew up the Death Star, killed millions of people, to avenge his family and the old hermit.” 

I know Zavulon has a millenium of experience in winning arguments, but it still stings whenever he successfully convinces me of anything.  The Other seemed to catch wind of my sentiments because he turned back to me.  “Feeling love is not evil.  And yet as Dark Ones, when we act out of love, you are always ready to see the worst in us.”

I had been about to formulate a counterpoint to his previous statement, but his words stopped me dead.  Trying to digest that words about love that had come from _Zavulon’s own mouth_ , I spent the rest of the ride to Day Watch headquarters in silence. 

Much to my surprise, however, the taxi did not stop at another important looking government building, but rather continued out into the country.  I began to have a sinking feeling in my stomach. 

“Where are we going?” I asked. 

“I’ve given many of the workers in the Watch the week off.  And, as my dacha is the largest and most able to handle whatever mayhem my own employees can cook up…” he trailed off, and whatever I had that masqueraded as hope took a nosedive. 

Even so, I managed to say, “They invite the boss to parties?”

Zavulon laughed.  I generally think myself a good judge of character.  But for that instant, with a beaming smile on his face, Zavulon seemed to be just a harmless, fun loving man.  Needless to say, I was unsettled- unsettled enough to speak my mind. 

“What are you planning?”

But Zavulon only smiled in the way only he can.  I could have sworn his eyes glittered crimson in the dim, nearly grey light. 

We were heading out of Moscow on those raised expressways that they'd just recently built.  Zavulon’s driver remained silent throughout.  Once the grey of the city had faded completely into white birch trees, I began to get nervous for real.  It’s one thing to _be_ a magician beyond classification and to have the backing of Gesar and the rest of the watch, quite another to be driving into the middle of nowhere with a near-deity to a party full of the worst the Dark has to offer where no one within a hundred miles has anything but but evil intentions.  We spent the rest of the six hour ride in silence, and as darkness fell, I was too afraid to fall asleep with Zavulon looking at me like that.  The golden street lamps we passed under cast the same shadows over his face a thousand times over, and each time, I saw his eyes glitter.

After about thirty minutes, the streetlights ended, and we began relying solely on the car’s headlights.  I perceived heavy undergrowth and a dirt path beneath us, and when we finally stopped, I felt odd, like a sailor who has just stepped back on land for the first time in months.

I must have been in some kind of haze, because I nearly tripped the moment I pulled myself out of the car.  Ahead of us, a dozen cars, black, sleek and made as if for politicians glittered in the light from an elaborately decorated dacha.  It wasn’t even Christmas, and yet twinkling lights illuminated practicalyy everything.  But the lights disguised something else: upon closer inspection, I realized that the dacha was not as grand as I expected of the head of the Moscow Day Watch.  It wasn’t big so much as it was just very well kept.  Absurdly, I imagined Zavulon coming here every weekend and tending to the lovely garden. 

The dark one guided me up the stairs and introduced me to everyone on the porch. I saw too many familiar faces. “Antoshka!” cried out several dark others that I’d never bothered to learn the name of, “Come have some Czech beer- Zavulon’s pulled out all the stops for you!”

I gave my best glare, and while several among them shrank away (being beyond classification gives you some perks at least), more just joined in laughing.  I was struck how similar this party was to our own little Night Watch gatherings at Tiger Cub’s house. 

The mob bore us inside, and I lost sight of Zavulon.  I contemplated swearing, but decided against it.  “Zavulon!” I cried, but someone had turned up the music- garish pop beats- to full blast, while someone else screamed “Holy fuck, this is my favourite song!”.  Light, I couldn’t even hear my _own_ voice over this. 

I stumbled around in the dark, Others bumping into me as they hopped around.  I think I tripped, and suddenly my knees grew cold and sticky as I found myself kneeling in a puddle of beer someone had spilled. 

Zavulon or no, I decided that it was time for some fresh air, so I squeezed through the sea of dancers and pushed my way out into the back deck.  Briefly, I considered getting myself a beer, but then reminded myself that this was enemy territory.  Inebriation was not going to be useful here.

“They always put the music too loud,” came Zavulon’s voice from right beside me. 

“Shit!” I swore, accidentally.  Good thing I didn’t have that beer, or I’d have dropped it.  The Dark One lounged in a beach chair that had been brought outside. I watched as he casually flicked the butt of a cigarette out into the darkness.

“I thought you’d care a little more for your property, Zavulon.  What about the cigarette burns?  You could start a forest fire.” I asked, stupidly. 

A flicker of something that might have been nervousness was in his smile, as if I’d pointed out a hole in one of his socks. 

“I’ll do a big clean at the very end,” he sighed.  “Here.  Sit.” And as if he were a stage magician, he swung up something from beside him and suddenly there was a cheap deck chair beside him. 

I did. There wasn’t much else to do. 

“You changed.”  It was an understatement.  Where Zavulon had once looked like a well groomed university professor, he was now decked out in shorts and a pink short-sleeved shirt with a pineapple design.  He also wore sandals.  Flip flops.  It was so… _weird_ to discover that the Great One Zavulon, who had lived for over a thousand years, had pasty legs.

“Vacation!” he exclaimed.  “I’ll go get you a cocktail,” he said, standing.  “You need to enjoy this little holiday.  After I’m cleared, it’ll be back to work with you-“

“Stop right there.” I stood up just as suddenly, and recalling from my memory, uttered an incantation that I’d never thought I would be able to perform.  At least, until Kostya had given me his final gift. 

A band of purest shimmering silver materialized around Zavulon’s wrist, as did one around my own.

I’d done similar spells before, but this binding was not only physical, but also mental, spiritual and any other ‘-al’ I cared to mention.  The ‘handcuffs’ would not be able to move more than five feet from each other, there was no way that Zavulon would be able to transfer his mind to another body and no way to pick the lock magically or conventionally. Nor for that matter, could he ensorcell me to undo the lock of my own will. I doubted that even _I_ would be able to dispel it before three days were up, and by that time, this monstrous party with its loud and rambunctious guests would be long over. 

Zavulon looked at it for about two seconds.  “What if I cut off my own hand?” he asked, unfazed.  He must have sensed the spell’s specifications even faster than I could have thought of them in my head.  I admire him for that, although it is in the same vein as those of my compatriots who admire comrade Stalin.

“The circlet is more theoretical,” I said, even though he undoubtedly knew and had just been making a joke, “It connects our wrists because it is just the point that we are most familiar being bound by.  If you cut off your hand, the spell will just shift to another part of your body.  Like your ankle.”

Zavulon let out a small ‘ha’, then said slyly, “Or my neck.  You’d enjoy having me in a collar, I should think.”

I sputtered.  Everyone over the age of twenty grows out of such crude sexual humour.  But apparently Zavulon, a hundred times that age, had not. 

At my reaction, the Dark One burst into a raucous cackle.  “Anton Gorodetsky!” he cried.  My name seemed immensely funny to him, but he did not intend to share the joke. 

And so it was that I sat there in silence, arms crossed, marinating in my own distaste for this whole affair.  I was not to go home to delicious potato and caramelized onion dumplings, my baby daughter, or my lovely wife.  I was sour, and determined to stew for the rest of the evening, possibly the rest of the week.

But Zavulton, as always, had other plans for me.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys,,, please listen to the Night Watch audiobooks,,,, Zavulon's voice is spot on, which makes everything so much funnier
> 
> also I need to sleep


	3. Time to Get Wet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Anton magically chains himself to Zavulon to keep the Dark One in check, he soon realizes that he's the one with no escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy! Hope you find it as fun as it was to write! :)))
> 
> (Oh and also, the character Alessia isn't Alissa Donnikova- I only just realized that that might be confusing, oopsies)

Eventually, Zavulon grew bored of my sullen company.  I say bored, but I’m sure that one who’s lived over a thousand years has developed a method of coping with boredom, else Zavulon would have torn his own hair out after the first hundred years of watching people like me give him the silent treatment.

He dragged me on my invisible five-foot leash over to the cluster of women near the fruit punch and forced me to watch as they laid their hands all over him. Well technically, I suppose it had been me who had forced myself to watch, seeing as I had been the one to lock us together with the spell. 

I hadn’t thought things through, it seemed.  This was a party, and at parties, people generally go to bed with people they've never slept with before.  So.  When a Dark One named Alessia made eyes at Zavulon, Zavulon looked at me as if to say, _ha ha_ and immediately granted her most secret wish by kissing her full on the mouth.

By virtue of magic handcuffs, I was dragged by a sneering Zavulon up the stairs and to the master bedroom.  The bedroom was complete with a master bed as well: It was blissfully large enough for me to perch on the far end, while at the other Zavulon and Alessia played with each other senseless.  Every ten minutes or so, she'd shriek just loud enough to startle me.  In contrast, Zavulon chuckled quietly the whole time.   

I don't know how I managed to fall asleep, nor do I care.

I awoke to someone tugging my wrist.  Zavulon was trying to get out of bed.

"Where's Alessia?"  I asked stupidly, rolling over to discover only the head of the Day Watch.  I didn't even want to know- not really.  Zavulon could just as easily eaten her as allow her to leave his side in the morning.

"She said she couldn't stand being second best in my eyes," Zavulon said smoothly, slinging himself out of bed.

"Uh huh," I said, not sure what that even meant.  I tried to slip out of the other side of the bed, but the invisible chain between us pulled taught and I tumbled back to Zavulon as the dark Other walked to his closet. I was still in my clothes from last night and despite the prior evening's discomfort, looked none the worse for wear.  Conversely, Zavulon was pulling off the tattered remains of his pink shirt.  His hair was ruffled in an unflattering way for once too.  Part of it floofed up in the wrong direction, while the rest was flattened to his scalp with dried sweat.  I wondered if I was the only person besides Gessar who'd seen Zavulon looking so disheveled in the daylight.

"I'm taking a shower."  The Great One stated simply. 

"Wait-" I began, but he collected his fresh clothes and opened the bathroom door. 

Zavulon dragged me along like I was an uncooperative dog on a string.  Not even a big dog, at that.  I was a pitiful little Chihuahua, the kind that fits into a handbag.

His bathroom was pristine, and only slightly smaller than the bedroom.  The shower itself was as big a room in my old apartment, and all its walls were made of crystal-clear glass.  I counted no less than seven shower appliances: an enormous circular shower-head which would spray water down like rain from the ceiling, four nozzles protruding from the wall whose directions could be adjusted to blast one's body in a crude massage, one detachable shower-head and a small round disk with holes that I realized was designed to emanate steam.

Even for a Dark One, it verged on excessive.

"Wow.  Compensating for something?"  I asked, unable to keep my stupid mouth shut.

Zavulon laughed, showing off the bathroom's marvelous acoustics.  God, I thought, what if Zavulon, prince of icy hell, sings in the shower?

"For my lack of what?"

I wanted to shout, 'Penal length', but those weren't even the correct words.  How many times they would echo around that creamy, beach-white bathroom of his?

Zavulon seemed to get the gist from my expression, and finished disrobing completely, pulling his legs out of his underwear. 

I wish I could say that I turned away in time. But alas, I caught a glimpse of the (second if I'm being kind to Gesser) most powerful privates for four thousand miles.

 "Compensating for what, again?” he repeated.  Even with my eyes closed as far as they would go, I saw him smile and wink at me.

I heard steam start to hiss from the little grate in the ceiling corner and felt my arm follow Zavulon into the shower.  Sadly, the glass room was too large for me to remain outside. 

I’d like to take a moment to address the fact that I was still fully clothed.  In my formal shirt and dark work trousers that I'd been wearing to Zavulon's trial, I was dragged into the steamy room.  I couldn't see Zavulon, but he must have been tinkering with the controls, because water began spewing from the ceiling.  Although my socks were drenched, I avoided the majority of the downpour and swallowed a frustrated groan with difficulty.

Zavulon came into my field of vision and looked me in the eye.

It was like in all those films where the character has to traverse a gaping maw of a chasm on little more than a tightrope.  _Whatever you do_ , I thought to myself, _do not, I repeat, DO NOT, look down._

"Aren't you going to undress?" He asked me. His eyes dared me to look at his genitals.

"No thank you."

"You light ones are strange, to shower in your clothes."

He was winding me up, and it was working fantastically.

Steam hung heavy in the air, making me sweat and causing all my breaths to taste like sugar water.

At this point, I noticed that the water had filled the glass room to the point where we were standing in a few centimeters of warm liquid.  My socks squelched. 

"The walls are watertight, so we could even take a bath in here," Zavulon explained, casually.  I tried to shrug just as casually, as if I didn't care that if water couldn’t escape then neither could I.

"I once drowned a man in this.  It was quite amusing.  Cinematic even.  At first, there was so much steam, that all you could see were his hands against the glass, and then when it filled up and he had to swim, you could see how his chest moved when he breathed.  And then when he drowned!  All the thrashing!  I'm sure I have it on video somewhere-"

It was up to our ankles at this point, and Zavulon was scrubbing shampoo into his dark hair.

"Zavulon, I would gladly vomit, but then we'd both be swimming in it, so would you kindly-"

He laughed and pushed me backwards lazily with one hand.  The four nozzle water-blasters ignited, drenching me instantly.  I spluttered and stumbled back towards the Dark One.  He held out a hand, brimming with eucalyptus-scented shampoo, and plopped it all onto my hair.

"Wash up," he said briskly, sweeping back his hair.  It was long when wet.  Jaw length at some parts.  I couldn't help but notice too (because they were also dark, you see) that Zavulon's long eyelashes had caught a multitude of fat water droplets in them.  His face was morning dew.  Cold.  Beautiful. Promising a day of something exciting. 

Dangerous, I amended. 

I scubbed halfheartedly at my hair, careful as always not to look down.

We took longer than I have ever spent in any shower, in my life. 

By the end of it, I had I shriveled into a cold, wet, pasty-white prune, while Zavulon had remained flawless as always.  I was sure he was casting an illusion over himself, but being the lowly beyond-classification magician that I was, I could not penetrate his disguise.

My only set of clothes was soaked, so Zavulon _insisted_ that I borrow some of his.  I don’t know how he managed it, but I somehow found myself in an ugly sweater, a pair of too-tight beach trunks (it’s not my fault Zavulon has an ass the size of two chickpeas stuck together), and a pair of Zavulon’s sports sandals.  And mismatched socks. 

I wanted to die.  No, I wanted to change into _anything_ else, and then die, but the moment I’d put on the second sock, Zavulon dragged me out of the room with nearly superhuman strength.

In the morning light, everyone else looked bright-eyed and pink-cheeked.  They'd all seemed to have a good time last night, and were setting out plates around a table in the garden that could sit at least thirty people.  Zavulon (and by virtue, I as well) helped the Dark One Edgar carry a portable fire pit outside to stave off the cold.  I was surprised at how nice everyone was, and as we sat down to eat, Zavulon seemed to know exactly what I wanted and passed it to me before I could reach for it. 

About half way through breakfast, Zavulon wafted a plate of bacon under my nose.  “Here, Andryushka.”

There was not a single person who didn’t look at me in the three seconds of absolute silence that followed. 

“Only my wife is allowed to call me that,” I growled, pulling half the bacon onto my plate.  If silence could intensify, it did. 

Zavulon raised his glass to his lips, laughing softly as if to say, _not for long_. His eyes made me shudder and remember the noises I’d tried to ignore all night.

 

* * *

 

 

“I understand the swimming trunks now,” I grudgingly admitted.  It was late morning, and Zavulon and I were sitting in the hot-tub while all the other Dark Ones shot us furtive glances from the swimming pool.  Zavulon had just turned off the bubbles, so now (to my dismay), I could actually hear what he was saying.

“Have you ever wanted something for yourself?” he replied, as if the non sequitur made complete sense.

“What.” I couldn’t bother straining my voice to make it a question.  I’d gotten barely any sleep the night before, and the hot tub was so warm… No!  I snapped back awake.  I couldn’t let Zavulon lull me into a false sense of security when I was supposed to make sure he didn’t _kill_ anyone.  Pretending to be an alligator, I sunk lower into the water, so that only my nostrils peeped over the surface. 

“Have you ever wanted something, or someone, all to yourself?” Zavulon asked, “You want it, or you want to protect it, and you would do anything, _anything_ to have it?”

“Sveta, I suppose,” I bubbled out in a half-daze. “And Nad-  Well…” I paused, wondering if this was a trick question.

“Is that not a little selfish?”

Right. This was Zavulon.  Everything was a trick question.

“I wouldn’t say selfish-“

Zavulon cocked his head in a checkmate smile.  “So Svetlana can go sleep with anyone?”

I rose to the surface and spat water from my mouth. I wanted to say that she could sleep with anyone if she wanted, but she loved me enough not to.  But then I thought.  What would I do if she left to see another man?  A lot of violence towards furniture, probably.  If I took the news well.

“I want _everyone_ to have something they would do anything for,” Zavulon said, one hand breaking the water to wave at the sky, “Because that’s how we know we are alive, even after all these years.”

“And you?” I asked.  “What could _you_ possibly want?” 

“Hmph,” Zavulon muttered, as if offended that I didn’t know the answer.  He gave me a moment to think it over, but when no idea sparked in my head, he sank below the water in a flurry of breath bubbles.  Even through the distorted water, I could see that his eyes were still open, looking at me, and his eyebrows had quirked dangerously in disappointment some idiocy. I must be an idiot then.

Suddenly, the bubbles came back on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zavulon: *is thousands of years old*
> 
> Also Zavulon: *is a moody teen*
> 
> Also Zavulon: *eggplant emoji*

**Author's Note:**

> I only own the original parts of the story :)


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